


Two of a kind beats all hands tonight

by purple_cube



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_cube/pseuds/purple_cube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt 'wall sex' at batmankink on Livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two of a kind beats all hands tonight

 

The temperature is more manageable in the evenings, once the Tuscan sun has set. Most of the time, they sit and sip wine and watch the world revolve around them. It’s nice. It’s normal.  
  
 _It’s a little boring_ , Selina thinks.  
  
So when the flash cars drive by, with their absence of roofs revealing gowns and pearls and tuxedos, the right side of her mouth curls up inquisitively.  
  
“It’s been two weeks, Selina,” is the monotone response. “We have more than enough money to get us through to winter.”  
  
She lifts her ass from the seat, just enough to lean across to his side of the small bistro table. “No stealing,” she promises. “Just fun.”  
  
He doesn’t lift his eyes from the newspaper in his hands. “I’ve known you long enough to understand that those two particular things are _never_ mutually exclusive.”  
  
“This time, I really do promise,” she purrs, and Bruce really can’t resist the pull of her voice, finally raising his gaze. The tiniest smile of acceptance tugs at his lips, and is all it takes for her heel to kick the chair to the floor as she grabs his hand and races down the street, his laughter closing the small gap between them.  
  
~  
  
She’s not wearing a mask now, but her hand settles against the curve of his neck just as it had done the first time that they danced. He holds her closer this time, familiarity and honesty breaking down at least some of their long-held barriers, a consequence of both of their reinventions. They are new people now, in a new world, and only they know how much has been given and taken from them to achieve that.  
  
She follows his gaze through the large window and to the street outside the ballroom, where a tall, scantily-clad brunette leans against a Harley, competing admirably with the machine for her male companion’s attention. Selina raises an eyebrow in question at her own companion.  
  
“I was just thinking that we should get hold of one of those for you,” he reveals with a smile.  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
His grip on her waist tightens. “There’s just something about the way you _ride_...well, I just can’t get enough.”  
  
Her mind flashes back to those final moments in Gotham. The feelings of twelve million people had swirled and howled in the air around her – relief, exhaustion, grief, disbelief. After the explosion, she had turned his bike back towards the tunnel and raced through, trying to slice those feelings in half as she rode. She had thought that the further she got away from that place, the more the feelings would fade. But they hadn’t. It wasn’t until Bruce Wayne walked into her life again on a rainy day in Paris that it occurred to her that those feelings might have been hers.  
  
“Still mourning the loss of that bike, huh?”  
  
He grins, the reminder of Gotham no longer bringing a painful wince to his face as it had done in Paris. “Just the sight of you on it. And of your inviting ass in the air.”  
  
“So, Bruce Wayne fantasises about fucking a cat-burglar on the back of his alter-ego’s motorcycle. Interesting.”  
  
His mouths quirks into a conceding shrug. “And what does Selina Kyle fantasise about?”  
  
She leans forward, her lips brushing the lobe of his ear. “You. Tied to the four posts of a bed, all spread out.”  
  
“Ah, let me guess. Blindfolded. Kinda clichéd for you.”  
  
“No blindfold.” She shakes her head. “I need to see you, see the look in your eyes. Watch your mask slip as I take pleasure from you _over_ and _over_ again. And eventually, I _may_ let you climax too.”  
  
She pulls back to watch him. She moves her head to one side as her mouth curves into a satisfied smile. “Well, would you look at that. Your mask is slipping already.”  
  
~  
  
No one gives them a second glance as Bruce finds himself being led by a racing Selina Kyle for the second time in an hour, this time up the grand staircase of the eighteenth century hotel. She leads him to a quiet corridor on the third floor, and they walk through impatiently, trying to find a discrete location. She spots the balcony just as they hear voices approaching from the far end of the hallway, and pulls him through the open door. The curtain swishes behind him, concealing them from the group that are making their way noisily back toward the main staircase.  
  
“A little crude, don’t you think?” he mutters as he pushes her against the brick wall. His voice is gruff now, betraying his impatience as he closes the gap between them.  
  
“Said the disgraced, former billionaire to the cat-burglar.” She lifts herself effortlessly, wrapping her legs around his waist as he moves his hands instinctively to her thighs to support her.  
  
“Point taken. And watch where you put those things,” he warns as the tall, slender heel of her shoe teases the crack of his ass through his pants.  
  
“You know you like it,” she retorts with a smirk. In response, his hand slips between them and under the short hem of her dress. She moans as he rubs her through the thin fabric of her underwear.  
  
“I know what you like, too,” he whispers in her ear.  
  
Her eyes close as his fingers move beneath her panties and reach her moist skin. His other hand slips from her leg too, pushing into the small gap between their torsos. He’s trusting her to keep herself upright, so she tightens her thigh muscles around him.  
  
“Two hands? You really are taking this seriously.”  
  
“Shhh,” he whispers. “Save your energy.”  
  
She wants to respond, reluctant to let him have the last word, but he uses that moment to push a finger inside her as his left hand rubs circles against her clit, and all she can do is gasp. She’s only just getting used to the sensation when he adds a second finger, and then a third before she can even adjust.  
  
She cries out in pain as well as pleasure. She knows that he understands this too, that one feeling cannot exist without the other, that both are necessary to feel alive. She knows that he understands _her_.  
  
He’s whispering to her again, but she can’t make any of the words out. She tightens around him, a silent urge to pick up the pace. He responds enthusiastically, both hands moving to an identical, steady rhythm.  
  
She can feel the coil tightening within her. When she opens her eyes, the lights and sounds of Florence blur behind his strong, sharp presence in her foreground. He _is_ her world in this moment, winding her tighter and tighter. When she finally lets go, her mouth widens, her eyes never leaving his as she pulses around his fingers.  
  
She finally remembers to breathe again as her body slumps involuntarily against him, and he huffs in silent laughter. He shifts his hands to support her once more, and the cool evening air soothes the throbbing part of her body that he has abandoned.  
  
With any other man, she can expect them to have moved onto the next stage by now, but not with Bruce. He doesn’t thrust into or even against her; his body perfectly still, a deliberately held distance between their bodies. Only his labored, meticulous breathing pattern betrays him. She understands that this is part of him. Control.  
  
And with control comes permission. Right now, he needs hers. She looks him in the eye. “Yes.”  
  
His breath quickens, the sound of his zipper releasing reaching her ears as he extinguishes the space between their bodies. She leans her head back against the wall, sighing as he enters her. Behind him, the history and splendour of Florence glistens in the night sky. Her focus adjusts to the foreground, and to him, as he pulls almost all of the way out before thrusting into her again.  
  
They don’t speak now, they never do. His eyes are glazed, partly in concentration and partly for control. He begins to move fractionally faster, the sound of moist skin smacking against skin rising above the noise of the street below. Somewhere behind them, music from the ballroom drifts along the staircase and towards them, but she doubts that he can hear it.  
  
His thrusting is erratic now, and she senses that he’s near the edge. She tightens her muscles around him, and when his eyes focus on hers for the first time, she knows that she’s tipping him over. She doesn’t look away for a second, revelling in the rare transparency of his expression as he empties himself inside her, his lips parted slightly in silent wonder.  
  
He waits for a moment before slipping out and helping to set her back on her feet. He gives her another small smile. By now, she’s learned that this is his way of saying _thank you_.  
  
As he starts to turn away from her, Selina grabs the lapel of his jacket to kiss him, fully and passionately, for the first time since they set foot on the balcony.  
  
“You know, I’m sure I could get hold of some rope on the way back to the hotel. So, about that motorcycle...”

 


End file.
